


Destiny Is Calling

by scatteringmyashes



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Battle Couple, Endgame, Fluff, Gen, Idiots in Love, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Team as Family, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 04:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15789159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteringmyashes/pseuds/scatteringmyashes
Summary: Hawke's made a lot of bad decisions to get here, sitting in the courtyard of the Circle and getting ready to fight for his life. He's also made a lot of great decisions, because his friends and the love of his life is here.He's pretty sure asking Fenris to marry him is one of the better decisions.A.K.A., super dramatic fluff during a super serious moment.





	Destiny Is Calling

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally just fluff and Fenhawke being a BA battle couple. I love these dorks. Enjoy :)

Hawke sat off to the side of the Gallows courtyard, his true friends and new family surrounding him. He was not happy to be fighting even though their foes were abominations and blood mages. Some, certainly, had been driven to such lengths because of the situation. But others were always bad and they did not deserve his sympathy. 

Still, it was hard when all he could think about was how Bethany could have been here, fighting against the Templars, if only she had lived. Would she have stood against Hawke? Or would she have known that he was only doing this to prevent further bloodshed? 

_Bethany would never resort to blood magic,_ Hawke thought as he slid his cleaning cloth down the blade of his dagger. He hissed as he accidentally sliced his thumb open, blood pooling from the cut. Suddenly six pairs of eyes were on him. 

“I’m fine,” he insisted, even as he stung from the pain of the poison he coated his weapons with. It wouldn't do any real harm in such a small quality but it wasn't good either. 

The others still looked a little concerned but it was Fenris who approached, crossing the stonework to kneel by Hawke. There was a moment of silence as Hawke finished his work before sliding the dagger back into its proper place. He smiled at Fenris, heart fluttering at the soft flush that spread over Fenris’s cheeks in embarrassment even after all this time. It broke Hawke’s heart, knowing that Fenris adored him so much partially because no one had ever treated him the way he deserved. 

Fenris deserved to be showered in the best foods and the softest clothes and the most luxurious of wines. Not fighting desperate mages who were willing to use blood magic and summon all number of demons to try to stop the Templars. 

“You are doing the right thing,” Fenris said. 

“I know.” Hawke sighed and hung his head. “It just doesn't feel right. I keep thinking about Bethany, about how these people have families too.” 

“That usually does not bother you,” Fenris pointed out. Hawke shrugged. “These mages knew what they were choosing when they decided to fight. If more wished for peace, they would have gone with the others who asked for forgiveness.” 

“Yeah.” Hawke slowly leaned over and knocked pauldrons with Fenris. The metal gently clicked together, an easy action born of much trial and error. “How are you feeling?” 

“Shouldn't I be asking you that?” Fenris asked, but there was still a smile on his face. “I have seen this before. What we will see is the worst of magic. They will not hesitate to use the foulest of their abilities to try to save their own skin.” He spat out the word _magic_ like it was a curse. 

“You've seen this before?” Hawke tilted his head, turning a little so he could look at Fenris better. 

Fenris nodded. “There are Templars in the Imperium who must, on occasion, step in when a line is crossed. The line is in a different place, but it does exist.” 

“Oh, what's this? Something about Tevinter that isn't horribly disturbing and disgusting?” Hawke forced a grin. There were a few too many teeth for it to be comforting. “What next, local blood mage donates time and money to the poor?” 

Both he and Fenris looked at Merrill, who was fiddling with her staff while Isabela talked about all the places she wanted to travel after they were done fighting.

“Okay, maybe not my best example,” Hawke admitted. Fenris chuckled before turning it into a cough, the way he did whenever he was embarrassed about laughing. Hawke beamed. Even in the most dangerous situation, Fenris’s laughter could raise Hawke’s spirits. 

Their conversation halted as Cullen came over. 

“Champion,” he said. There was blood smeared over his shield and a dark smear on his cheek. Ash or demon blood — Hawke wasn't sure. 

“Knight-Captain,” Hawke replied with a nod. 

“The Knight-Commander wants to know how much longer you think it will take to prepare. She is concerned that we are giving the mages more time as well.” 

“I’ll tell her when I'm ready. She can wait until then,Knight-Captain,” Hawke snapped. He didn't think that killing every mage was a good idea but he knew Meredith would just cause more destruction if he didn't help her. 

And he didn't know about the Templars, but he knew his companions needed a breather — the majority of them weren't trained soldiers. They didn't have the same endurance. Besides, their usual foe was far weaker, far less dangerous. And while Hawke could occasionally be cavalier about his life, he would _never_ do the same to his friends. 

“I understand. I'll let her know,” Cullen replied stiffly before turning on his heel and walking away. 

Aveline and Sebastian — who both knew Hawke did respect Meredith, even if she set the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up — were looking at him with similar expressions of concern. 

“What?” Hawke challenged them, instantly regretting his words, but neither said anything. 

Fenris shifted, sitting down next to Hawke. He pulled his sword out and onto his lap. It was gleaming with fresh oil rather than blood — Fenris always did take good care of his equipment. Their eyes met, Fenris solid and steady, and Hawke felt himself calm down. Everything was fine. Everything would be fine. 

Hawke faked a yawn and rolled his shoulders, scowling as one of his muscles tugged. The fighting through the docks had been rough — pride demons had managed to entrap him temporarily in some magic and a shade got a lucky swipe at his armor, slicing straight through one of the leather pads. Aveline and Sebastian had helped him patch it up — as well as the other various injuries the group had sustained — but it still stung. 

That was what had Hawke the most concerned. How tired would the mages be? How many demons would they summon? How many turned to blood magic now and how many had experience with the dark magic? Meanwhile there were too many Templars who were out of the fight, souls either gone to join the Maker or too badly injured to keep fighting. 

“Hawke,” Fenris murmured, reaching out with his hand. He placed it carefully on the ground between them. His palm was up, the thin lines of lyrium visible on his palm and fingers. Hawke hated seeing them, knowing how much pain and suffering they had brought Fenris, but he was still captivated by how beautifully they stood out against his brown skin. And Hawke knew how Fenris hated vulnerability, hated people looking at his brands — so Hawke found himself moved by the offer. 

It didn't take even a moment for Hawke to carefully put his hand in Fenris’s. Their armor was sharp and it was easy to hurt someone, but the two of them had held hands many times. Neither of them would hurt the other, not even accidentally. 

“I… may not have the chance to say this again,” Fenris began. His words were slow, picked deliberately to ensure Hawke understood. He swallowed before looking at Hawke, their eyes locking. “Meeting you was the most important thing that ever happened to me, Hawke. Promise me you won't die. I can't bear the thought of living without you.” 

Hawke felt his heart skip a beat, his chest tighten, his vision blur. He felt Fenris place his free hand so tenderly on Hawke’s cheek, thumb brushing against his warm skin before he began to pull back. _That won't do,_ Hawke thought as he leaned forward and brought Fenris into a kiss. 

Their mouths met and Hawke had the strange sensation of — of coming home. Fenris was warm and soft, even though his lips were chapped and there was an old, faded scar on his cheek. His armor was easy to work around and Hawke was careful as he pressed closer to his love, very much aware of the spikes on him. 

_I love you,_ Hawke thought when they pulled apart from each other. 

“Hawke…”

“I don't make that promise unless you do,” Hawke insisted. Fenris smiled and nodded, that beautiful flush returning to his face. He looked wrecked — there were demon remains all over his arms, his sword pommel dug uncomfortably in Hawke’s stomach, and there was still an edge in Fenris’s eyes from their situation. 

But he also was the most beautiful person Hawke had ever seen. So, naturally, he kissed him again. 

This time, there was more heat to it. There was an understanding that they didn't know if they'd wake up tomorrow, if they'd even make it through the night. They might never see the sunrise or share sleepy kisses as the other woke up after a night together. 

Hawke did his best to pour everything Fenris meant to him into the kiss, to try to convey how much affection and admiration Hawke had for him. There was no one who could stun Hawke with a simple smile, no one who could make his heart soar with a laugh. There was no one who fit so perfectly in Hawke’s arms or fought so wonderfully by his side. No one tasted as sweet as Fenris did and no one but Fenris made Hawke comfortable enough to melt into their touch. 

Fenris was not perfect. He was rough and had literal and figurative spikes and he was passionate and confusing and yet — 

Those imperfections were what Hawke had fallen in love with. And while he absolutely took great happiness from Fenris opening up and growing into his own person, Hawke still loved the way Fenris wasn't polished flattery and the way Fenris huffed whenever something inconvenienced him and the way he could kill a man in no less than twenty ways bare handed. Fenris was not perfect, but Hawke had not fallen in love looking for perfection. 

And that was what he tried to put into the kiss, that was what he tried to say without words. Hawke had always been a man of actions and while he would gladly write a million words of poetry for Fenris, sometimes a kiss was all that he needed. 

The moment — and the kiss — were interrupted by cat-calling and a sharp whistle. 

“Aw, it was just getting good,” Isabela whined. Fenris gave her a sharp glare, one hand still entwined with Hawke’s. The other was resting on Hawke’s chest, the sharp gauntlets pressing lightly against the thick layer of leather. Hawke’s heart pounded against his ribs — he wouldn't be surprised if Fenris could feel it. After all, Fenris already held Hawke’s heart in his hands. 

“I thought they were already doing a good job,” Merrill said. 

Hawke laughed and shook his head, forcing himself to let go of Fenris’s hand and to not squeeze his thigh with his other hand. It hurt, but Hawke was suddenly _very_ aware of all the eyes on them — the less subtle Templars were only now coughing and trying to make their staring less obvious. Fenris seemed embarrassed, if the color in his cheeks was anything to go by, but he also looked sad when Hawke stopped holding his hand. 

“So when’s the wedding again?” Varric asked. “If Bianca and I don't get an invitation, I’ll write very means things about you in my next book. Absolutely scandalous.” 

“It can't be any worse than the time Fenris and I got caught making out in the Viscount’s Keep,” Hawke pointed out. Aveline groaned as Isabela stammered, barely able to string two words together. 

“I thought we weren't allowed to talk about that,” Merrill said. “I distinctly remember Aveline forbidding us from talking about it.” 

“It’s okay, kitten,” Isabela interrupted. “Please, Hawke, go into more detail about how you and Fenris thoroughly debased the Keep. Was there any whipped cream? Please tell me there was whipped cream.” She didn't even wince when Aveline groaned and shook her head.

“How are you joking at a time like this?” Aveline asked. 

“I don’t know, I rather like them,” Hawke commented. He rolled his shoulders again and gave Fenris an apologetic look. “Sorry, Fenris, looks like responsibility is calling on us.” He stood, reaching down to help Fenris up as well. 

Fenris let Hawke pull him to his feet, sword grasped loosely in his free hand “This would be the first time you answer her,” Fenris deadpanned. 

“Hm, true. Must be someone else.” Hawke looked at his friends, at his family. Sebastian was down to two dozen arrows. Aveline’s shield — the one Hawke had given to her as a gift all those years ago — was dented. Varric looked like he wanted a drink. Fuck, _Hawke_ wanted a drink. 

Maybe when this was all over, if everyone got out and — 

_No. When this is over and everyone is safe. When._ Hawke couldn't allow the alternative to even be in his mind, because that wasn't an option. 

“I don't know what we’re going to face. I don't know if we’re all going to win. But I swear to the Maker, I will bring everyone home.” He grinned. “Now come on, someone is calling on me and it would be rude to let them wait.” 

He went around and hugged each of his companions. Their lives were too dangerous to let things like social standards to stop them from being affectionate. When Hawke got to Sebastian, the two clasped the other’s forearm and hugged with one arm. 

“You know, Hawke, I am a Chantry ordained Brother. I can perform legally binding weddings.” Sebastian had a serious tone and his face was a perfect mask until Hawke looked him in the eyes. There was a twinkle of _something_ in those otherwise innocent baby blues and Hawke laughed.

“Don't worry, Sebastian. If you want to be involved in the wedding, you will be. But I wouldn't make you do a job on a day like that.” 

“It would be an honor to officiate such an important ceremony for my two closest friends, but I'm sure you two will have many more years to think about it. And perhaps you will be able to honeymoon in Starkhaven.” Sebastian adopted a warm smile. “May the Maker watch over you, my brother.” 

“And may He watch over you,” Hawke replied. 

With his last conversations complete — for the time being, because Hawke _refused_ to accept that this could be the end for any of them — Hawke walked to Meredith. She glowered at him, clearly displeased with his seemingly cavalier attitude through this all. Because he enjoyed pushing buttons far too much — and if he didn't keep himself calm he was likely to breakdown and refused to leave Fenris’s side — he spun his side knife through his fingers and waved to her. 

“All right, we’re all ready to go kill a few abominations.” 

“You should take this seriously, Champion. These mages are wielding dark magic far beyond anything you have ever—” 

“Yes, yes, I know. Danger, evil, terror. Well my answers to all three problems are the same: dagger, dagger, dagger.” Hawke flipped his knife in the air and mimicked stabbing the air each time he said _dagger._ It was quite cathartic. 

“Right.” Meredith did not look impressed. “Templars! We move out. Remember your vows and remember that the Maker stands with us!” 

Hawke turned towards his friends, his _family._ The ragtag group of deviants and disasters that he had surrounded himself with over the last eight years, standing right behind him and awaiting his words of wisdom. He grinned. 

“After this is over, drinks are on me,” he promised. With that, he put his side knife back and slipped out his actual daggers. They were bright in the moonlight and he stalked forward, sensing his friends falling in behind him as he made his way up the Gallows steps towards what he knew was the most important battle of his life. 

#

Finding out Orsino could have stopped his mother’s death was somehow the third most traumatizing surprise to happen in less than six hours, which made Hawke realize his life really, really, really _fucking_ sucked. 

Anders blowing up the Chantry was, by far, the worst part of the day. 

Meredith deciding that she had her fill of Hawke’s antics and wanted him killed for possibly challenging her ambition to rule Kirkwall as Viscount — a position that Hawke had a negative amount of interest in — was second. 

It was also why Hawke, still covered in a sickening combination of Orsino and Circle mage bits, was slicing and dicing his way through the horrible statues that had once lined the Circle. He could make out Varric and Aveline in the corner of his eye, her shouts and cries drawing attention away from the surprisingly nimble dwarf and his deadly crossbow. Isabela was leaping in and out of shadows, aided by the smoke from four people’s grenades, her daggers almost as deadly as Hawke’s. Merrill cast spell after spell but her mage was clearly weakening and Sebastian had resorted to pulling arrows out of corpses in order to have something to shoot. 

Hawke wasn’t sad that Anders was dead, but in that moment he did miss the boon that was his healing magic and his ability to reign fireballs onto the battlefield. Still, he knew that he would be fine without the help — he just had to make sure all his friends got out of this safely as well. 

“Maker’s breath,” Hawke cursed as he almost slipped on a puddle of blood and skewered himself on a statue’s sword. He twisted out of the way with inches to spare, bringing his own daggers around to sever the statue’s arm. With a quick push, Hawke was able to slice the thing’s throat and dodge a blow from one of the larger statues. He wasn’t a small man, but the statues made him feel like it — and he didn’t like _that_ at all. 

“I could use some help!” Merrill shouted. Hawke turned to look at her and felt his breath stop. She was being backed towards the Circle gates by two statues, her staff outstretched but mostly useless. It was obvious from her pale and clammy skin as well as her trembling arms that she could barely summon up a gust of wind with her magic. She was also too far for Hawke to reach.

Isabela dashed across the courtyard, desperate to reach Merrill in time, but she wasn’t close enough either. Sebastian drew his bow back and shot one of the statues in the shoulder, but it didn’t even turn to look at him. Aveline prepared to charge forward, but hesitated. If she left to help Merrill, Varric could be hurt. Hawke, for a terrible moment, thought that he would have to watch Merrill die. 

But then Fenris, a glowing figure of lyrium swinging a sword as tall as he, launched himself at the statues and cut both of them down with two efficient moves. He didn’t even acknowledge Merrill, just moved to the next foe. 

_I love him,_ Hawke thought. 

He felt a surge of reckless energy hit him, a sheer stubborn refusal to die. Not after the Blight, not after the Deep Roads, not after the Qunari — he would not die to a madwoman’s betrayal. He would not let his friends die here, he would not let Fenris die here. 

Hawke bolted past where Cullen and a few Templars were fighting, barely acknowledging Zevran — and where had he come from? — with a tilt of his head. He lobbed a flash grenade at a statue that was advancing on Varric and cut it down as soon as he was within range. It took him less than thirty seconds to get to Fenris, who was surrounded but didn't seem concerned in the slightest. 

“You have my thanks,” he called out when Hawke cut down one of the statues. Hawke grinned, flipping the dagger around in his hand. 

“I'm good at two things: killing people and making funny jokes.” To prove his point, Hawke drew one of his last throwing knives and hurled it at a statue. The blade spun through the air and hit its target, sliding cleanly into the enchanted metal. At his side, Trinket barked. 

Fenris chuckled. “You are good at more than just that.” His eyes went wide. “Move!” He shouted, sprinting towards Hawke and pushing himself between Hawke’s body and Meredith’s cursed sword. 

“I will not be stopped,” Meredith swore. Her entire body glowed red, the sword's eerie light reflecting off her armor. 

“You cannot have him,” Fenris promised. He was silver and blue against Meredith, the different colors bleeding together when their swords connected. Hawke, for the third time in as many hours, found his breath taken away by how beautiful Fenris was. 

“Gah!” Meredith screamed as Merrill shoved her away with a stone fist. Meredith went flying into a wall, the brick cracking under her body. She crumpled to the ground, red light still flickering off her form. Bands of lightning and sparks had joined in and Hawke had the vague memory of the rock wraiths that he had seen in the Deep Roads so long ago. 

“Oh, do you think that did it?” Merrill asked. Meredith hauled herself to her feet and let out a feral noise, not even a scream in its ferocity. 

“I believe that is a no,” Fenris replied. He readied his sword and began to move away but Hawke grabbed him by the shoulder. “Yes?” 

“Marry me.” 

Time froze. Fenris’s face morphed into surprise, a perfect _oh._ There was blood on his face, in his hair, burns on his armor. His sword seemed to flicker in and out, matching his brands as they faded. Hawke stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on Fenris’s cheek. 

“Will you make me the happiest man on Thedas and give me the honor of being your husband?” Hawke whispered. 

“Yes.” Fenris’s eyes widened and he threw Hawke aside, blocking a statue from cutting Hawke in half. “You certainly have a dramatic sense of timing, Hawke,” Fenris chided with a smile on his face. 

Hawke tumbled forward, regaining his bearings and smirking. “Well, I have to keep you on your toes!” He shouted back. He examined the battlefield — Meredith was currently being controlled by a tag-team fight led by Cullen alongside Aveline and several other guards. The statues seemed to be mostly downed, save for a few of the bigger bastards. It was easy enough to help Fenris kill his foe and then grab his hand, their gauntlets both slippery with blood, and lead him over to Sebastian. 

“Brother! I have a favor to ask of you,” Hawke called over. He waved the hand that was entwined with Fenris’s and let the goofiest grin appear on his face. 

Sebastian, who had looted a sword off someone’s corpse and was now using that to swing at any possessed statue that got too close, laughed. “Aye, it seems like you will be making use of my services sooner than I thought!” 

“What’s happening here?” Isabela asked, appearing out of almost nowhere. She favored her left leg and there was a long cut on her face that stained her cheeks red, but she seemed otherwise unhurt. 

“Didn't you hear? I am betrothed,” Fenris quipped. 

Isabela let out a squeal and launched herself at Fenris. Hawke hastily stepped away, letting the two embrace. He couldn't quite make out what Isabela was saying, but he caught the words _about time_ and _wedding night._

“We can celebrate the engagement later, some of us still are fighting!” Aveline shouted. 

“Wait!” Hawke looked at Fenris, lips twitching in a sheepish grin. “Maybe… we could get married now?” 

There wasn't a moment of silence because they were still in the middle of a fight. Isabela had engaged one of the smaller slave statues with Sebastian, the two covering each other’s vulnerabilities. Varric and Bianca were still fighting, singing their soft song as bolts fired one after another. Merrill had summoned up a deadly tangle of roots and vines that cut through the stonework and strangled statues that got in their way. 

“You… would marry me here? How?” Well, Fenris wasn't saying no. 

“Sebastian’s ordained. We’ve got plenty of witnesses. What do you say, love?” Hawke held out a hand. 

Fenris smiled that beautiful, absolutely perfect smile. “I would love to get married to you today,” he replied. 

Hawke let out what could only be described as a cheerful whoop, punching the air and kicking at nothing. Fenris chuckled, knocking shoulders with him. Their pauldrons clashed and drew attention from the others — and not just friends. Meredith focused down at Hawke and Fenris, eyes crackling with red lyrium. 

“That's our cue,” Hawke shouted. He fell into fighting position, daggers at the ready. “Sebastian, we’re gonna need some help!” 

“Yes?” Sebastian asked, brushing a few stray locks of hair out of his face. “If you have any more arrows, I would appreciate—” He was cut off as a statue swiped at him. Sebastian narrowly avoided having his face ripped off as Isabela hacked at the metal, her daggers wearing out faster than Hawke’s.

She eventually cut through and successful separated the statue’s arm at the elbow. The metal hit the ground with a horrible clang, echoing in the courtyard along with the other sounds of swords and shields in combat. That included the group around Meredith, who seemed unable to engage her but equally too powerful to be attacked. 

Meredith let out a howl and Hawke found himself stumbling, temporarily dazed. He could barely look at Fenris, who also seemed disoriented. He did see Meredith leap into the air and land in the middle of the courtyard. She began shouting about the Maker and her mission and how she was surrounded by nonbelievers. If Hawke could have, he would have rolled his eyes. He might not have been the most devote of followers, but he still had _faith._

Admittedly right now he was mostly faithful in the two pieces of steel he called daggers, but that was beside the point. 

He knew that he was running out of time and, to his horror, Meredith summoned some dark presence into the largest statues, freeing them at the same time as Hawke and his companions. Hawke grabbed Fenris and shouted at Sebastian,

“Fenris and I are getting married!” 

“Yes, I know, but perhaps—” 

“No, we're getting married now,” Hawke clarified. He saw Sebastian stumble and almost thought that he was going to be responsible for another death, but Sebastian was far too skilled and rolled out of the way of a metal hand. “You're an ordained brother, you can do the ceremony,” Hawke continued. 

Sebastian laughed. “All right, all right. We — On your left!” 

Hawke turned and jumped up as a fist flew towards him. He clambered on top and over it, rolling when he hit the ground. Fenris went incorporeal, the fist passing harmlessly through where he was standing. Sebastian ran over, followed by Isabela. He cleared his throat as the four of them circled up, weapons out and backs to one another. Even if Hawke couldn't see Fenris directly, it was comforting to know he was there. 

Sebastian clasped his hands together. “We are gathered here today to—” He was cut off by Aveline.

“Really, Hawke, is now the time to do this?” She shot him a glare from across the courtyard.

“Oh give it a rest, we might all die! Then you'll have to spend an eternity in the Fade regretting getting between those two,” Isabela argued. 

“I think it's quite lovely! But how are you two going to do a handfasting? It seems quite dangerous to tie yourself together during a fight,” Merrill wondered. She had travelled through the ground over to the cluster that was now made up of everyone but Aveline — who stood with her guardsmen — and Varric. 

“And here I was thinking that I'd have to embellish the story,” Varric laughed. He jogged over, shooting a few bolts to cover his ass. The only statues left were the huge ones, easier to fight in a group. 

“We are gathered here today,” Sebastian shouted rather desperately, “To bring together James Hawke and Fenris of Tevinter in divine bond under the eyes of the Maker and His Bride.” 

One of the massive statues glared down at their group and roared. Fenris, ever capturing Hawke's heart, shouted back and charged without a second thought. Hawke felt himself grin as he went to flank the statue. 

“Do you, James Hawke, agree to wed Fenris in the eyes of the Maker and His Bride, to protect each other in safety and in danger, to stand by each other in sickness and in health, to love each other in this world and the next?” 

Fenris swung his sword over his head. It collided with the statue's hand, the rusted bronze crumbling under the force of the blow. Hawke saw the statue stagger back and sunk his daggers into its thigh, a manic grin on his face. 

“I do!” He shouted. “I swear to be by your side, Fenris, not matter what the Maker throws at you. I will defend you against your enemies and treat them as my own. I will bring you happiness in your sorrow and light in the darkness. I swear by the Maker to love you in this life and the next, because not even His power could separate me from your side.” 

Varric whistled. “So, Hawke, how long have you been practicing that?” He shot at the statue once, twice — each bolt landed solidly in the metal, but the statue barely even flinched. 

“Oh, uh, how long have I known you, Fenris?” Hawke joked. Fenris rolled his eyes and dodged out of the way of an errant firebolt. 

“Sorry!” Merrill apologized from where she, Isabela, and Sebastian were fighting another statue. 

“Do you, Fenris of Tevinter,” Sebastian began before getting almost getting backhanded by the statue's flailing limbs. He fell back just in time, literal inches between him and almost certain death. “Whew! That was close.” 

“Maybe we should focus,” Fenris suggested in his detest tone of voice. 

“Fenris! You can't be leaving me at the altar,” Hawke cried out as he pulled out his last flash grenade and threw it at the statue's head. 

“I am not. That would require an altar,” Fenris deadpanned. 

Sebastian laughed. “Well if you would like to stop, please tell me before I lose any limbs or organs.” 

“No! No, we are not stopping,” Hawke insisted. “Er, unless Fenris really doesn't want—” 

“I, Fenris of Tevinter, swear to be by your side, Hawke. I will defend you against your foes and I will protect you from all suffering. I will feel your losses like they are my losses and experience your pain as if it was my pain. I swear to love you and follow you wherever you lead, for even the Maker could not keep me from your side.” 

“Does anyone have a pen,” Varric asked, “Because I really can't remember this—” 

“By the power vested in me by the Chantry of Kirkwall—” Sebastian's voice broke and he stumbled. Isabela was instantly by him, protecting his exposed flank and giving him a reassuring presence. “I pronounce you, James Hawke and Fenris of Tevinter, married! You may now kiss—” 

Hawke leapt forward, daggers slicing through metal, at the same time as Fenris went incorporeal and lunged through the statue's leg. The two met in the middle of their violent paths, the aggression temporarily fading as they lowered their guard just long enough to kiss. 

It was, in all possible ways, a fairy tale kiss. 

Around their embrace, the statue fell to the ground. Meredith howled in anger and Hawke drew his last throwing knife, hurling it at her. She was about to charge at Aveline, who stood protecting Donnic even though they were alone — the rest of the guard had retreated to tend their wounded. The knife flew through the air and, hitting her already weakened armor, landed solid and quick in her throat.

Later, Varric would describe the moment with more fire, a dragon, and the entire Templar Order clapping for Fenris and Hawke. But in that moment, all Hawke could think was that this was _right._ This was how it all was supposed to end. The pain, the loss, the challenges — they were all worth it if a marriage kiss with Fenris was at the end.


End file.
